


the sweet and the sour

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band), Taylor Swift (Musician)
Genre: Angst, Boxing, F/M, Fluff, Shape Of You music video au, Songwriting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-10 20:19:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10446579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "By the way," she says, smiling as she gives the bandaid a final pat-she's been touching it a lot more than neccessary if he's not imagining it-, "my name's Taylor. Taylor Swift.""Harry Styles," he awkwardly grins, Taylor's face right in front of his. Her scent is really intoxicating, a mix of sweet, sweet perfume with a whiff of sweat. He wants more of that smell. He wants more of her.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Ed Sheeran's Shape of You, obviously. I wanna stuff the entire Divide album up my ass.
> 
> I claim to know absolutely nothing about boxing so sorry in advance for the inaccuracies that might have happened. Un-betaed as hell.

 

* * *

 

 

There's a new girl at the training center. A _hot_  one, that is.

  
"Mate," Niall whispers while the girl is kicking the shit out of a boxing bag up in the ring, "think I can convince her out for a drink?"

"That's gross, Niall." Harry responds. He does let his gaze wander towards her, though, a willowy figure dressed in a tight crop top and black tights and sweat making her skin glow, before turning away. His mother always told him that it was rude to objectify girls.

 

***

 

One week later Niall's got his ass beaten by the girl in a rally between all trainees. Quite literally.

"Told you that volunteering to go against her to get a chance was a bad idea." he tells him, with a tad of symphathy.

Niall spits a wad of bloody spit into a tissue.

 

***

 

The next morning Harry's running in the way to the gym, determined to arrive before anybody else since Tommo declared the last day that the person who arrives the latest will have to supply them all with pints this evening, his hasty breakfast barely digested as he runs. He skids to a top at the dark entrance -nobody has turned the lights on yet, he'll take that as a good sign- and runs down the stairs, practically jumping off the last few. His bag that's slung at his shoulder bangs at his back.

He lands heavily at the stone floor, looking around. It's dark. Nobody's here yet. Good.

Humming with adrenaline and a fast heartbeat, he unslings his bag and makes his way towards the lockers. He doesn't bother turning the lights on, and there's another switch somewhere near the lockers, anyway. He already knows the small gym by heart enough to find his way through the dark.

 

What he doesn't expect is a slab of metal hitting him straight on the forehead, just as he approached the lockers. An involuntary swear word escapes his lips and he frowns, blinking.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" a feminine voice sounds from the darkness but he can't quite see her face, than the lights flicker on and his eyes are suddenly met with white flourescent light. His vision blurs for a second.

"Are you alright?" she asks again and oh,  _oh,_ it's the new girl, the one who practically beat Niall to a pulp. She's standing right in front of him with her locker door wide open- probably that's what hit him. He shoud have turned on the lights, than. 

"Yeah," he mutters and ducks his head down, only to glance up at her again. He can't help it. She's breathtaking now that her face is clearly visible to him under a sharp light, a flick of black eyeliner highlighting her blue eyes that stands out strikingly in her otherwise make-up free face. She peers into his own with those eyes, a fleck of worry still clear on them.

"Are you sure?" she says, "Cause your forehead is kinda bleeding."

That explains the consistent throbbing pain. He holds up his hand to his forehead and withdraws it to see a lot more blood than what he anticipated.

"Here, lemme-" she says, extracting a pack of tissues from her purse and gently wiping the blood off. The tissues have a faint flowery scent to them, or maybe it's just her. His head still rings a bit from the impact of the locker door, so maybe he's just imagining it.

She proceeds in digging out a band aid from somewhere and forcing him to sit down and he lets her plaster it over his skin with calloused fingers, smoothing over the creases over and over, a bit more than neccessary.

"By the way," she says, smiling as she gives a final pat, "my name's Taylor. Taylor Swift."

"Harry Styles." he awkwardly grins,Taylor's face right in front of his. Her scent is really intoxicating, a mix of sweet, sweet perfume with a whiff of sweat. He wants more of that smell. He wants more of _h_ _er._

 

They don't say anything else after that and Harry's interrupted soon enough by a very loud Niall and then Taylor stands up, says she'll see him later, and Harry doesn't know how to respond to that so he just smiles and nods. The ghost of her fingers are still clear against his skin and he shivers, visible enough to Niall stop mid-blabber and looking at him quizzically.

 

 

Tommo ends up serving them pints at the end of day. Harry looks around in the group of cheering people for a certain tall blonde, but she's not there.

 

 

***

  

A few days later, he learns a few things about Taylor. How she refuses to dress in anything that covers her (admittedly very toned)midriff, how her ringtone is some weird rock-slash-indie song he's never heard of, how she's friendly at most times but turns into an fucking ass-kicking machine when given a pair of boxing gloves and a mouthpiece.

Harry watches from below her throwing a nicely aimed hook straight into Liam's abdomen which results in him grunting in pain and stumbling backwards -he's probably two times heavier than her- and he grins. _What a fucking badass._  

 

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: @swiftly-romantic


End file.
